


The Dangerous Chemistry of Mark Beaks

by Mr_Pinniped



Series: Dangerous Chemistry [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Bisexual Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, Cockamamie Schemes, Comedy, Engineering a meet-cute is hard, Gay Gyro Gearloose, Gay Mark Beaks, Increasingly Petty Displays of Oneupmanship, M/M, Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Rivals to Lovers, Science, T-rated for some swear words, Trans Gyro Gearloose, canon-typcial hijinx, multi-chapter, terrible pickup lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Pinniped/pseuds/Mr_Pinniped
Summary: According to the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, a Rivals-to-Lovers style courtship typically includes a long history of antagonism; unhealthy obsession with the other’s accomplishments; increasingly elaborate and petty displays of one-upmanship; and often, repressed homosexuality.  Can Fenton and the Duck kids get the cold and critical Gyro Gearloose to admit his feelings for the petty and conceited Mark Beaks, or will their increasingly elaborate matchmaking schemes just add fuel to the feud?
Relationships: Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera/Gandra Dee, Mark Beaks/Gyro Gearloose, Scrooge McDuck/"Glittering" Goldie O'Gilt
Series: Dangerous Chemistry [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924729
Kudos: 45





	1. Hashtag Hero!

“Gahhhhhhh!” A furious shout rang through the underwater lab. Fenton Crackshell-Cabrerra looked up from his desk. The sound had come from Dr. Gearloose’s office.

**What do you think that was about?** Manny the headless man-horse tapped out with his hoof.

“Well, a yell like that could mean two things. Either the hardware he’s working on just fell apart, or…”

“That petty, conceited, egotistical, cowardly…”

“Or,” Fenton continued, with a worried look at Manny, “Mark Beaks is baiting him on social media again.” 

“Thieving, blockheaded, megalomanical, knavish…”

Judging from the string of insults emanating from Gyro’s office, Fenton strongly suspected the latter. 

“Pestilent, weaseling, witless…”

Fenton saved the program he was working on and opened up a new browser tab, logging into his Webstagram account. Sure enough, the first words he saw at the top of the screen were “Mark Beaks has tagged Gyro Gearloose in a post.”

There was a smug-looking picture of Beaks there, holding up a magazine that had him pictured on the cover. “So honored to have been named Electronics Magazine’s #1 most influential person of the year. Congratulations to runner-up @gyrogearloose, better luck next time!”

A comment from Gyro had already appeared below the post. “It is not a meaningful award when your company owns the publication.”

“You know, Waddle was also named ‘Most Influential Startup’ by The Duckberg Times.”

“Which your mother owns.”

“You know what the Times award was for, pal? It was for my work on self-driving cars ;)”

“WHICH YOU STOLE FROM ME!” 

This must have been when Gyro had started swearing in the next room, Fenton thought. 

A line of blue dots was blinking beneath Gyro’s words. After a moment, Mark’s final comment appeared. “Prove it. Oh wait you can’t. I’m deleting this post now. Bye, loser!”

And the post disappeared, leaving a column of moderately funny memes on Fenton’s screen in its place. There was another growl from Gyro’s office, and then the door slammed open and Gyro stormed towards Fenton. His thin frame was shaking with anger and his hair was sticking out at odd angles, as if he’d been pulling on the feathers. He stalked over to the coffee pot and poured a generous amount into his mug, which he drained in one gulp without adding any creamer or sugar.

“Intern! What progress have you made on the grant proposal?”

“I’m almost done, Dr. Gearloose! I’ll send the draft for your approval within the hour, and then I can incorporate your edits before Friday’s submission deadline.” said Fenton. Gyro leaned over his shoulder and peered at Fenton’s screen. He grunted in a way that told Fenton he didn’t immediately disapprove, then crossed the room to where the Gizmoduck suit sat charging in a corner. 

“Did you finish the software updates?” 

“It’s still updating, sir.”

Gyro kicked at the console. “Stupid slow machine.” He rounded on Fenton again. “And you need to be more careful when you’re out heroing- another big dent in the helmet like last time and you’ll damage the cooling chip, which could overload the whole thing!”

Fenton knew better than to argue, especially when his boss was still in such a foul mood. He simply nodded. “I understand, sir.”

Gyro disappeared back into his office and the lab was silent for a while, with Fenton and Manny working quietly at their own desks.

Suddenly, Gyro’s door burst open again, releasing a great deal of purple smoke into the room. 

“Dr. Gearloose?” Fenton jumped up. Gyro flew face-first through the door, suspended from a red-and-white backpack which was wrapped around his shoulders, spewing smoke and spinning him around in midair.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to start yet!” “Power surge!” “Fully fueled!” “Could go for an hour or more!” 

Fenton could only hear snatches of what Gyro was yelling as he chased the rocketing jetpack around the room. It nearly slammed into the floor, but Gyro somehow managed to kick off and he and the jetpack flew up the long, slanting corridor towards the ground-floor entrance.

“Intern! There should be a way to disable it remotely!” Gyro’s hands grasped the door frame as he shouted down to Fenton before rocketing out of sight. Fenton reached the top of the stairs just in time to see his mentor speeding up into the air, coming to a halt just above the roof of the money bin. The jetpack seemed excited by its newfound freedom, and began flying in elaborate, looping patterns, leaving a trail of smoke behind it. 

Fenton could still hear Gyro’s yells fading into the distance as he leapt back down the stairs into the lab and frantically scrolled through the computer in Gyro’s office. How was he supposed to remotely disable the jetpack? And if he did, what was to stop Gyro from free-falling back to the ground? If only Gyro hadn’t decided the Gizmosuit needed repairs right that morning- he could just fly up and get him! He heard the door open behind him. 

“Any idea how to bring down a rogue jetpack, Manny?” he asked without turning around. But he wasn’t answered with a reassuring clop-clop of the man-horse’s hoof. Instead, a high-pitched, drawling voice responded.

“Cabrera! Where’s Gearloose? He hasn’t responded to any of my posts in like, ten minutes and I’m bored...!”

Fenton turned around. Mark Beaks was perched on his hoverboard in the doorway, phone in his hand.

“B-Beaks?” stammered Fenton

“What’s he doing flying around up there, anyway?” Beaks nodded towards the open door, where Gyro could periodically be seen zooming by.

“Malfunctioning jetpack.” said Fenton weakly.

“Well, why don’t you go rescue him… Gizmo-dork?” Mark asked, leaning closer to Fenton’s face. Fenton was surprised that he didn’t tip right off the scooter. 

“Suit’s running software updates. It took some damage last time I had to stop a Beagle robbery.” He indicated the Gizmosuit, folded up neatly in the corner and plugged into a computer. 

“Awww… obedient little intern can’t play because the boss won’t let him?”

“No, I told you, it’s running a software update. Won’t be able to safely run for…” Fenton glanced at the screen. “Approximate 47 minutes. No, 35 minutes. No, 52 minutes.” The numbers on the loading bar blinked irritatingly at him. 

Mark Beaks tapped at the screen. “Bulbtech? Or are you running an old PC OS?” 

“This machine is running Doorways 10.”

“Ha! Easiest OS on the planet to hack. Watch and learn, Cabrerra.” Beaks bent over the keyboard, pulled his hood over his head, and began hammering at the keys. 

Within two minutes, the software update had concluded, and the suit was upright, whirring, and all the indicator lights showed that the suit was ready for flight. 

“Wow, thank you! Bla-” Beaks seized the back of Fenton’s shirt and thrust him roughly aside. “What are you…?”

“You thought I was going to let YOU save him? Ha! I think I’ll get the hero’s credit, thanks.” Beaks turned towards the suit, a devious grin on his face. “You really should be more careful about who you let touch the software. It’ll respond to my voice now. Blabbering Blatherskite!” he shouted.

The suit responded, muffling Beaks’ laughter under layers of metal as the pieces clasped into place around him. Fenton stared blankly as Beaks shot up the stairwell and into the sky. He thought he could hear “How do you steer this thing?” echo down back towards him before he stood up and followed.

A few hundred feet above him, Gyro was still struggling with the jetpack, which had him upside-down spinning in slow circles. It had grown tired of purple smoke and was now emitting a fine mist of water from the top. The mist cascaded down around him, catching the light and throwing little rainbows across his vision, which would have been pleasant if the blood pounding in his head wasn’t making it harder and harder to think, and he could no longer reach the jetpack’s controls. 

He attempted to swing himself upright again, but this just caused the jetpack to spray more water. He glanced up, which was to say down, and saw Gizmoduck speeding up towards him.

“Fenton!” he shouted, waving a hand and twisting around. “Can you help me override the control switch? It’s on the back…”

Gizmoduck’s visor lifted, revealing not Fenton’s eager and sympathetic face, but the self-satisfied smirk of Mark Beaks.

“You?”

“Me.” Beaks grinned. He pressed a button on the Gizmo-suit’s glove and a little camera on a telescoping stick slid out a few feet in front of him. “Rescuing Duckberg’s second-most famous scientist! Hashtag hero!” He grinned at the camera and clicked the shutter. 

Gyro gave a slight groan. Of all the features on Gizmoduck’s suit, of course Beaks would figure out the selfie-cam first. “If you’re done with the self-promotion, could you fly around behind me and flip the red switch? Then we can actually get down to the ground?”

“Of course, friendo!” Mark tapped a button on the suit. A nozzle popped out of the helmet and shot a long strand of toothpaste at Gyro’s face. “Wait, how do I go up?”

Gyro wiped the toothpaste off his glasses. “The processor is calibrated to Fenton’s brain. The controls won’t just work for any random idiot.” 

“No, I’ve got it.” Mark raised the suit a few more inches, before the chest compartment opened and launched a pie point-blank into Gyro’s face.

Gyro spat out a mouthful of merengue. “Look, you should be able to reach the red switch from there. Up by my waist?”

“Right. Just gotta move the arm…” A rope shot from Gizmoduck’s arm, wrapping tightly around Gyro’s outstretched leg. 

_ At least I won’t fall to my death now,  _ Gyro thought, _ Though it might almost be preferable to this.  _

“Got it!” The Gizmo-suit’s arm finally made contact with the red switch, powering down Gyro’s jetpack. Gyro managed to swing forward and wrap his arms and legs around the base of the Gizmo-suit and orient himself upright. Beaks was aiming the selfie camera, which was still functioning perfectly, at his face, when suddenly, the suit’s flight-engine powered down and they started free-falling. 

Gyro was surprised he still had the presence of mind to reach up to slam his hand the blue button on the Gizmosuit’s collar. A parachute deployed from the helmet, and their fall slowed. He realized he was now perched bridal-style in the suit’s arms, his face mere inches from Mark’s. 

“Don’t do anything, don’t say anything.” he growled through gritted teeth. “We don’t need any more surprises before we hit the ground.” Mark nodded to show he understood. He was holding onto Gyro rather more tightly than was necessary, and he looked paler than usual. The moment in free-fall must have scared him a bit.  _ Good.  _

Fenton was waiting for them on the ground when they landed. The Gizmosuit immediately fell to pieces, dropping both Mark and Gyro unceremoniously onto the pavement. “You ok, sir?” Fenton offered a hand to help Gyro up. 

Beaks got there first, and wrapped an arm around Gyro’s shoulders, holding his phone aloft in the other hand. Fenton saw Gyro freeze at the touch. The parrot snapped a selfie, then released Gyro, who slowly stood up.

“Just saved Duckburg’s second-most intelligent scientist. Hashtag hero!” Beaks then stepped effortlessly onto his hoverboard, which was inexplicably sitting right next to where they had fallen, and gave them a irritatingly cheerful wave. “See you around, Gizmos!” And he rolled away down the street. 

There was an odd expression on Gyro’s face as he stared after Beaks’ retreating back. He didn’t look angry, but he didn’t look grateful either. It seemed to be partially frustration, but there was also… something else. Fenton glanced back down the road at Beaks, but the gray form had disappeared around the corner. He looked back at Gyro, and realized he knew exactly where he’d seen a look like that before- it was exactly the face Scrooge made every time Goldie O’Gilt bested him!

“Back to work, I think. Let’s make sure none of the damage he did to the suit is permanent.” said Gyro quietly, turning back into the lab. 

“Yes, Dr. Gearloose.” Fenton followed him, thinking Could Gyro possibly feel for Beaks the way the Scrooge felt for Goldie? Nobody in Duckburg, not even Fenton himself, could match Gyro for sheer intellect and creativity, he knew that. He suspected that Beaks was also intelligent, or would be if he actually applied himself. But they were totally different! Gyro invented for the sheer joy of it, whereas Beaks seemed to be primarily motivated by profit. Then again… No. He must have been imagining it. 


	2. Rivals-To-Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up, I wrote this before I had seen most of Season 3, so if Gandra seems a little OOC, that's why. For the purposes of this fic, she's not a FOWL agent, just a Waddle employee, and she and Fenton are happily dating.

“So that was my day,” Fenton laughed dryly. He was stretched out on the sofa in McDuck Manor’s game-room, head resting on Gandra’s knees, video game controller in hand. Huey and Dewey were sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, and the four of them were playing a racing game. Fenton was losing badly, but he didn’t really mind. The kids were always so happy when they won. 

“Glad you got the suit back ok” said Huey. “Aww, shoot I missed the star!” The little red car on lower-right corner of the screen plunged into darkness.   
“Yeah, and it seems there wasn’t too much damage, despite it not being calibrated to Beaks’ brain. Doctor Gearloose managed to hit the emergency parachute before they crashed.” 

“What I don’t understand,” said Dewey, “Is why Beaks didn’t steal the suit in the end. He just drove away. If he wanted to steal the suit, why wouldn’t he just drop Gyro and fly off?”

“I wondered the same thing myself,” said Huey setting his controller aside and pulling out his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook. 

“Don’t tell me that nerd book has a badge on billionaire psychology,” Louie had re-entered from the kitchen, holding a freshly-opened can of Pep, and Webby was behind him with a large bowl of popcorn. 

“I’ve got a theory,” said Gandra, setting her controller down as her orange car in the top-right of the screen whizzed triumphantly across the finish line. 

“What’s that?”

“I think, maybe, they  _ like _ each other.” Gandra grinned slyly, running her hand through Fenton’s hair. Everyone gaped at her, except for Huey, who started frantically flipping the pages in his Guidebook. “Of course! Romantic Courtship! Would you say this is more of ‘Mutual Pining’ or a ‘Rivals-to-Lovers’ situation?”

“A bit of both, but I suspect more of the latter.” Gandra looked down curiously at Huey’s book. 

“Seriously?” asked Dewey, “Dr. Gearloose and Mark Beaks? In love?” 

“Hmm… long history of antagonism; unhealthy obsession with the other’s accomplishments; increasingly elaborate and petty displays of one-upmanship; and often, repressed homosexuality. Sounds like a pretty textbook case, honestly. Fenton, did they display any intense eye contact or coy body language?” he looked up.

“Well, I was more worried about the crash than their body language,” Fenton admitted, “But you may be right about the displays of one-upmanship. They  _ are _ getting ridiculous.” He had just been looking at his Webstagram again. Mark had just posted a row of pictures of himself rescuing a confused-looking cardboard cutout of Gyro from increasingly unlikely scenarios. All were captioned “Hashtag hero!” Gyro, it seemed, had not yet responded. 

“That doesn’t really sound healthy,” Webby said.

“That’s adults for you,” Huey shrugged. “I mean, look at them!” He pointed at Fenton and Gandra. “She was a spy and they worked it out eventually.” Gandra stuck her tongue out at Huey, but then turned and gave Fenton a quick kiss on the forehead. 

“Hmm…well, if they do like each other, and won’t admit it, maybe we should find a way to convince them to get together?” Webby suggested, peering over Huey’s shoulder at the Guidebook. “We made that spaghetti dinner for Fenton…”

“No,” said Fenton immediately. “Dr. Gearloose is very closed-off about his personal life. Transforming the lab into a fancy restaurant would definitely upset him.” 

“Also, need I remind you that when we tried that, we ended up having to contend with Mega-Beaks and both of us got kidnapped?”

“Well, we could always try to engineer some sort meeting outside the lab. Get them talking about the things they have in common.”

“What do they even have in common, though? They kinda seem like opposites to me,” Dewey looked skeptical.

“Look closer, Dewford,” said Louie, leaning back in his chair. “There’s a lot of possible benefits to the world if those two got together.”

“Benefits to the world? Or to you?” Dewey looked up at his brother, suddenly suspicious. 

Louie held up his phone. “A benefit to Louie, Inc  _ is  _ a benefit to the world, my friends. Anyway, Mark Beaks didn’t read the fine print when I sold Waddle back to him after _ I _ got it from Glomgold. There’s all sorts of eventualities that may make him owe me more money. Including,” Louie waggled his eyebrows, “If he gets married before the end of next year.” 

“Whoa, married?” asked Fenton. “They’re not even dating! We’re not even sure if they like each other!”

“Oh, they like each other. Use your observational skills, science boy.” Gandra smirked down at Fenton. 

Huey was still paging through the Guidebook. “If we want to properly assess their compatibility, we should factor in upbringing. What do we know about their parents?”

“We’ve met Mark’s mom, Emma Glamour and she’s obviously hard to impress,” said Louie. 

“And everyone knows Mark Beaks is the son of David Beaks, famous baseball coach,” Dewey added.

“Hmmm… what about Gyro’s parents?”

Fenton jumped. He wasn’t sure that the kids knew Gyro’s secret, the reason he had gone all the way to Tokyolk for university and had lived in McDuck’s laboratory after that. The kids didn’t know that Gyro’s parents still sent him Christmas cards addressed to “Our daughter, Henrietta”. This was something that he, Fenton, had only found out by accident. He glanced up at his girlfriend- he was pretty sure Gandra didn’t know either. “Gyro’s parents… aren’t around.” he said finally.

It was easier to let the kids think that Gyro’s parents were dead, or lost on the moon, or trapped in a time-loop. Anything was preferable to outing the man who clearly didn’t want that part of his past known. 

“Hmm ok,” said Huey, “well if you factor that in the coefficient of attraction is even better!” 

“You may be right,” Fenton hesitated, looking over Huey’s calculations and finding it entirely strange that this was part of standard Junior Woodchuck training. “They are complementary, in many ways. They could end up quite happy together. If they could stop with the petty feuding.” Admittedly, Fenton thought, his own life would be easier if the feud came to an end as well. 

“Ok, so we have the end goal,” said Louie, “What’s the actual plan?” 

Huey turned a page in the guidebook. “It says here that coffee shops are good places for first dates.”

“Ooooo! Maybe we could get them to bump into each other and spill their drinks! And then they’ll apologize, and start talking, and…. Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!” Webby’s sentence trailed off into an excited squeal.

Louie stroked his chin. “We’ll have to get them into the same coffee shop at the same time. Dr. Gearloose should be easy enough, Huey, you’ll just have to ask him to give you some advice about nerd stuff- college applications or something.”

“College? I’m ten years old!”

“According to the Junior Nerdchuck Dorkbook, ‘It’s never too early to plan ahead for your future!’” Louie said in a poor falsetto imitation of his brother’s voice. Huey sighed, but nodded.

“Dewey, you and I’ll have to work on Beaks. Ask him something about his social media cred- he can’t resist talking about himself. If that fails, I’ll just try to sell him the DJ Dewbot helmet.”

“Hey!”

“Webby,” Louie continued, “You should make sure the coffee shop is ready for them- minimal wait time, a clear table with optimal lighting- only  _ one  _ open table, so they can’t sit separately, and something for them to trip over so they can bump into each other. And Fenton and Gandra, you can--” 

“I still don’t know, if I want to be involved” Fenton interrupted. “As happy as this could potentially make them, I don’t think we should be interfering like that. Maybe let them figure it out for themselves?”

All four kids all looked up at him, with wide, disappointed eyes. 

“Awww, look, Fenton, you’ve made the kids sad,” Gandra said playfully. “Let them have their fun. It worked for us, didn’t it?”

Fenton groaned. “Fine. I’ll come along as Gizmoduck and hide nearby. Just in case anything goes wrong. But if anyone asks, I had nothing to do with it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will the scheme work? Will Fenton get himself fired again? Are Mark and Gyro *really* into each other? Why is the JWG so genre-aware anyway? 
> 
> All this and more in future chapters, coming soon!


	3. Coffee Shop Meet-Cute

“I’ve got Dr. Gearloose, we’re just across the street.” Huey’s message flashed across Louie’s phone screen. He was sitting on a park bench just behind the busiest Starducks in town. Tucked between a bicycle parking rack and some large hedges, Louie’s view of the street was obscured, but he could clearly see through the side windows into the cafe itself. Gandra and Launchpad were dressed as baristas and standing behind the counter. Launchpad was attempting to brew her a drink. Fenton was in a corner booth next the window, just on the other side of the glass from Louie. He had his laptop open and was typing something, slouched low over the keys so his face was barely visible. 

Now to check on Dewey and Beaks “Eta?” Louie texted.

Dewey’s response was immediate. “5 minutes. I’ve got him.” followed by several winking emojis.

“Webby, you should head inside.” Webby, who had been fiddling with some spy gear on the lawn at Louie’s feet, saluted and slipped through the hedge onto the main walkway and through the door to the coffee shop. 

Louie turned back to his phone. “Huey, you’ll need to stall a bit. Beaks needs to get in line first.”

Behind the bushes, he heard Huey’s voice, suddenly very loud. “Dr. Gearloose, did you notice that very interesting tree about a block back?”

“Was there?”

“Can we go back and have a look at it? I’m working on… um… a Junior Woodchuck forestry badge?” 

Louie sighed into his hand. Huey had never been a convincing liar, but luckily, Dr. Gearloose was terrible at reading people. From the sound of footsteps heading away from him, the distraction had worked.

Dewey’s voice was approaching now. “The emoticon face is classic, of course, but I was thinking about upgrading it with Unicode emojis.” His DJ helmet made an odd buzzing sound. 

“You have to know your audience, kid. Millennials will appreciate the nostalgia of the emoticon face, but if you want to sell to Gen Z? Unicode is the way to go.” Peeking over the hedge, Louie could see that Mark Beaks was staring intently at the DJ Dewbot helmet, a calculating look in his eyes. Dewey opened the coffee shop door and waved Beaks through. Louie turned and waved through the window to Webby. She gave him a thumbs-up and turned towards Launchpad. Louie couldn’t hear her words, but moments later, Launchpad took her money, handed her a chocolate-chip muffin, and then turned to Dewey and Mr. Beaks. 

Webby sat at the one of cafe’s last empty tables and pretended to scroll through her phone with one hand. Her other hand busily adjusted various gadgets in the inconspicuous backpack that was sitting on the bench beside her. Louie texted a quick thumbs-up back to Huey, who responded in kind. 

Beaks was ordering now. Louie’s phone buzzed- Dewey had managed to surreptitiously call him. Louie could now hear at least some of what was being said inside. Beaks’ coffee order was insanely complicated. The rapid-fire patter of “Triple-shot caramel macchiato latte, half 1% milk, half oat milk, brewed at 189 degrees, full whip but no syrup,” repeated several times as Launchpad struggled to write down all the instructions. .

Huey and Gyro were entering the shop now. Louie saw Gyro’s eyes land on Beaks for just a moment, as they got in line, then the scientist quickly and pointedly looked directly at Huey, suddenly intensely focused on their conversation. 

Dewey was now holding two extra macchiato lattes, and Beaks handed him a third. Muffled and tinny as the sound was, Louie could just hear “No, this one was clearly brewed at 195 degrees! You can have this one, kid,” while Launchpad, whose brow was tightly furrowed and face was beginning to flush red with the effort, turned to make Mark’s drink for a fourth time. Gandra, who had been cleaning out a tea carafe, turned around and smiled at Beaks. “Sorry, he’s new. I’ll get it. Help the next customer, Launchpad.”

Gandra moved down to the other end of the bar and Beaks followed, while Launchpad turned to Gyro. Louie didn’t need to hear what Gyro said, he knew the order would be a large black coffee with one sugar, and maybe, if Gyro was feeling indulgent, a blueberry scone. 

Launchpad handed a scone to Gyro at the exact same moment Gandra handed the finally-approved macchiato latte to Mark.  _ Good timing, _ thought Louie, pleased that his plan had progressed well thus far. Dewey, still balancing the rejected lattes, stayed close so Louie could hear the conversation as both Mark and Gyro both turned around, Mark noticing Gyro in the shop for the first time. 

“ Well, well. If it isn’t Duckburg’s second-most promising technological innovator!” Mark’s voice was dripping with condescension.

Gyro looked around, trying his best to look puzzled but unfazed. “That’s odd. Manny doesn’t drink coffee. Maybe you need your vision checked, Beaks.” Launchpad handed Gyro his drink. Gyro took it in one hand, his disdainful gaze never leaving Mark’s face. 

“My vision is fine- there is definitely a horse’s ass standing right in front of me.” Mark sipped his latte, his grin growing broader. 

Fenton slid down further in his seat, looking pleadingly at Louie. Louie ignored him. The time to act was now. He tapped three times on the window near where Webby was seated. She quickly pressed on something in her bag, and her grappling hook shot out. It snagged and tugged on the thin runner of carpet that lined the front of the coffee bar.

Gyro, who was standing nearest, stumbled. His hands shot out in an attempt to grab the nearest solid object for support, which, as it happened, was Mark’s elbow. Gyro’s coffee tilted slowly out of his grasp and hit Mark squarely in the chest. Mark, also unsteady due to both the sudden movement of the carpet and Gyro's flailing arms, lost his grip on his own drink, which tumbled to the floor. The lid popped off as it collided with Gyro’s knee, and the concoction of coffee, caramel, and cream spilled out, soaking the ankles of his trousers and spattering his shoes. 

For just a moment, Gyro and Mark clung to each other for balance. Their eyes met, and both looked vulnerable and nervous. 

Webby seized the opportunity and jumped up suddenly from her seat. “Oh! I just forgot my granny called and wanted me home by now! You two can have this table if you’d like.” Despite the glass window between them, her words were perfectly audible to Louie. She slung her bag over her shoulder and skipped out the door, appearing mere seconds later on the bench next to Louie. Both held their breath, staring intently at the two men who were still frozen to the spot, covered in spilled coffee.

Mark finally broke the contact, jumping back. “Careful, Gearloose! I just had this dry-cleaned!” He peeled off his hoodie, which was now steaming slightly.

Gyro, who had grabbed a handful of napkins and was attempting to wipe his shoes, looked up. “Why on earth would you dry-clean a hoodie? They’re machine-washable!” 

“New business model- Waddle Laundry! One of our helpful robots picks up your clothes and takes it to the laundromat for you. One of our..." Mark waggled his eyebrows, “self-driving robots.” 

“Uh-huh.” Gyro said flatly, tossing one wad of napkins into the trash and grabbing another handful. “And how have they not gone evil and set someone’s clothes on fire?”

“Eh, it’s only a matter of time. But then I’ll just rebrand them. Probably do grocery deliveries next.” Mark shrugged. “What can I say? People like to pay for convenience.” 

“You really have no shame, do you?” Gyro’s voice was steady, but Louie could see the back of his neck beginning to turn red. 

Mark knelt down onto the floor next to Gyro, wearing an expression so smug even Louie, twenty feet away and on the other side of a glass window, felt uncomfortable. “Shame just holds you back, Gearloose. That’s why you,” he poked the end of Gyro’s beak, “Are not a billionaire.” 

Louie noticed that Fenton had slid down so far in his seat that he was practically under the table.

Mark stood up again and leapt towards the door. “See you later, alligators!” he called, and hopped on his scooter, zooming off down the sidewalk. Dewey put his phone away and looked out the window at Louie. Louie jerked his head towards the back exit, and moments later, Dewey joined him and Webby on the bench. 

Gyro, meanwhile, seemed to be apologizing to Huey while throwing away the last of his stack of napkins. Louie couldn’t hear them, but moments later, Gyro walked out of the shop, stiff-legged and stony-faced. Huey went to help Gandra fish Fenton out from under his table. 

Dewey distributed the rejected lattes he was still holding to his siblings. Everyone leaned back on the bench and took a sip. 

“That… didn’t go very well.” Webby finally broke the silence.

“About as well as the time Dewey tried to hot-wire Uncle Donald’s boat and sail to Cape Suzette.” Louie agreed. 

Fenton, Gandra, and Huey came around the hedges towards them. 

“I was afraid this would happen. I shouldn’t have gone along with it.” Fenton was saying.

“Hey, it’s better than our first date- at least no one turned into a literal giant monster.” Gandra was smiling, but Fenton shook his head. 

“I’m going back to work.”

“But it’s Saturday?”

“Did you see Dr. Gearloose’s face when he left? He’s a ticking time-bomb. We are probably about two minor inconveniences away from him having a total meltdown and launching an elaborate revenge plot.”

“That could definitely end poorly,” said Louie, thinking of his first encounter with Li’l Bulb. If Gyro could make a robot like that by accident, it was scary to think of the damage he could do with actual malicious intent. 

Fenton slung his bag over his shoulder. “Someone’s got to get him focused on some harmless side project before he accidentally blows up half of Duckburg. And as long as he didn’t know I was here, that someone is going to be me.” He disappeared in the direction of the Money Bin. 

Gandra watched him go, then turned back to the kids, an ambitious glint in her eye. “Don’t let Fenton spoil your fun. There’s plenty of other potential meet-cutes we could engineer.” They looked back at her hesitantly. 

“Maybe he’s right,” said Huey. “Just because we  _ can _ help them get together doesn’t necessarily mean that we  _ should. _ ”

Gandra opened her mouth to answer, but she was interrupted by a loud rustling in the bushes. Everyone turned to look. 

A short, squat duck wearing a kilt and a matching tartan cap emerged. There were a few leaves and twigs in his beard and a wide, awful grin on his face. 

“I think you can pull it off, laddies. But you’re going to need a much better plan. Nay, not a plan. You’ll need… a  _ scheme.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is Glomgold here? What is he planning? New chapter coming soon.


	4. Preparations for a Scheme

Mark Beaks fiddled with a Rubik’s cube in one hand while tapping at his computer’s keyboard with the other. There must be a reason, he reflected, that “board” rhymes with “bored”. Still, the meeting was over, and he wouldn’t have to sit in on another one for a whole month. He set one of his desk’s many fidget spinners whirling while he idly looked over a string of code that had been submitted by one of the programming teams for his approval. The Webstagram UI was, he supposed, well due for an upgrade. He wasn’t sure he liked all of the proposed improvements- he tapped out a few notes on his keyboard, then spun the fidget spinners again.

The door to his office opened, and a young duck wearing a green hoodie walked in. Mark jumped up from his desk with such speed and force that all of the fidget-spinners scattered to the floor. 

“Whatever you think I did, it wasn’t me! I haven’t violated your contract in any way! And I’ve read ALL of the terms and conditions now, you can’t--” 

Louie Duck rolled his eyes and raised a hand for quiet. “You haven’t done anything. At least not anything that Louie, Inc is concerned with. I’m here as a favor to one Mr. Flintheart Glomgold.” 

“That is not better! How did you even get past security?” 

“Flattery.” Louie shrugged with irritating flippancy.

“Fine. What do you want?” Mark’s eyes narrowed. The little duck couldn’t be teaming up with Glomgold again, could he? 

“I suppose you’ve heard some of the buzz surrounding the opening of the new restaurant on the top floor of the Glomgold Industries building? The Golden Shark?”

“Course I’ve heard of it. Sounds lame. Fancy steakhouse with a giant aquarium? Very Boomer. Uncreative. Who would want to eat there?”

“Quite a few people. Emma Glamour, for example, is planning to attend the grand opening.” 

Mark, who had been slouching against his desk, jerked bolt upright and Louie gave him a sly smile. “I’ve got an invitation if you want it.” Louie held out a glossy blue card. “You’d have a chance to get some influential blog posts up. Give one of the first reviews. Not to mention some cool selfie opportunities in front of the giant shark tank.”

Mark began to reach for the invitation, but stopped himself. “Flintheart Glomgold has tried to either kill me or buy out my company five times in the past year. This is obviously a trap.”

“Are you afraid he’ll manage it this time? I thought you prided yourself on being able outsmart someone like Glomgold.” 

Mark ground his teeth and clenched his fist, thinking hard. __ ‘Louie’ was probably short for ‘Lucifer’, he thought. Even though he knew he was being manipulated, there were still a lot of opportunities here: an exclusive party, some viral posts, a chance to prove he was stlll better than Glomgold… He could deal with the kid’s ulterior motives later.

He reached out his hand, and Louie passed over the invitation. A smirk crept to the duck’s face.

“You owe me $40.”

Mark groaned. “What did I do this time?”

Louie pulled up a document on his phone and scrolled through, showing it to Mark. “It’s in the contract. Page 37, Section B15. ‘If the head of Louie, Inc., delivers to the head of Waddle LLC, an invitation to any sort of exclusive premier event including the restaurant openings, art gallery previews, movie premiers, and theatrical performances, the head of Waddle LLC shall pay forty dollars to the head of Louie, Inc.”

“Fine.” Mark rolled his eyes, but he pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped it against Louie’s. Both screens lit up, confirming the balance transfer. 

Louie looked at the cup on Mark’s desk. “Also… Is that an iced mocha you’re drinking?” 

“Umm… no! It’s just… tea!” Mark moved to hurriedly push the cup to the side, but Louie was faster. He had the lid off in an instant, and put out his hand towards Mark.

“Fifty cents. Page 42, Section C7.”

“Ugh!” Mark hesitated.

“If you don’t want to, you can always forfeit the contract. And I’ll own Waddle again. Your entire fortune, and the fame that goes with it.”

“No! Take your fifty cents.” Mark tapped the phones again. The kid’s full name was  _ definitely  _ Lucifer. __

“You know, if you actually were drinking tea you wouldn’t owe me anything,” Louie scrolled through the contract thoughtfully. “I only put coffee in here.” 

Mark glared down at him. “I will never drink that pretentious leaf water. Now get out of my sight before I call security.”

“Threatening me?” Louie smirked. “That’ll be $15. Page 12. Section A14.”

Mark closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his beak. This is what he got for not thoroughly reading all of the fine-print terms and conditions. “Fuck.” he muttered 

Louie put one hand to his chest and leaned dramatically against the door. “Swearing? In front of an innocent child? That’s a dollar!” 

“You,” Mark tapped the phones for what he hoped would be the last time, “are not innocent, Lucifer Duck.” 

Louie straightened up. "You think my real name is Lucifer?"

"What else would it be?"

"Um, it's actually..." Louie hesitated. "Never mind. Let's say that's it." 

He  smiled brightly. “See you at the party!” Then he made a finger-guns gesture at Mark and backed out through the door.

Mark grabbed a tennis ball from his desk drawer and bounced it irritably against the table’s surface a few times. That sort of behavior really ought to be illegal, he thought. But, unfortunately, the best corporate lawyers on his team all said it was perfectly within the law. He’d signed the contract without reading and understanding every inch of fine print. Sometimes that’s how business-to-business transactions worked, they had said. Why was he expected to know these things about business acquisition? Mark was a programmer! The big idea guy!

And now he was being extorted by a ten-year old! Or maybe Louie was nine? Or twelve? Mark wasn’t actually sure. A preteen, anyway, and that was just embarrassing. At least the kid kept the whole arrangment on the down-low. Mark didn't know what he'd do if people _knew_ about this. 

With no where else to direct his anger, Mark turned to the spiral-eyed plywood cutout of Gyro Gearloose that currently occupied the corner by the window. Its right arm had snapped off, and there were several burns along the legs. An old T-shirt that Mark had been given as part of one of Glomgold’s badly failed schemes against Scrooge was stapled to the shoulders, hanging limply over the frame and proclaiming “I AM TEN YEARS OLD”.

Mark flung the tennis ball at it. The force of the throw hit the faux Gyro in the face, knocking the cutout onto the floor. Mark felt slightly better for a fraction of a second, before the ball rebounded and hit him squarely in the stomach. 

* * *

Flintheart Glomgold grasped his cane as he gazed proudly around the room. The project was almost finished. He’d just met with the chefs and sampled the opening night menu - five impressive courses that even Owlson had approved of- and was now ascending the stairs to the balcony seating that would serve as the VIP section for the grand opening. 

He paused at the top and leaned up against the glass of the massive aquarium tank. A school of sardines flashed by, circling well away from the dozen or so 10-foot long sharks which lazed in the quiet blue. Unfortuntely, he hadn't managed to find a way that would lure Scrooge McDuck into this trap, but at least he would have Mark Beaks. That would be enough for now. Beaks was still the third-richest man in Duckburg, but his net worth was creeping closer to Glomgold’s with alarming rapidity. And McDuck’s nephews were taking care of that for him. How easily they had walked into his scheme when he pretended, just for a moment, to care about theirs. 

Glomgold gave an adoring smile to the tank’s inhabitants. Were they smiling back at him? It was hard to tell with sharks. He turned around and crossed to the VIP tables, running a hand over the polished seat-backs as he went. With any luck, he would be able to rid himself of Waddle’s threat and generate some free advertisement for his restaurant in one go.

There were already place settings at the tables. He examined one of the forks, then tried to pick it up. It stuck fast. Glomgold glared at it and pulled harder. The fork came loose with a loud twang, and the ground shifted under Glomgold’s feet. He lost his balance and fell, but from the floor had a perfect view of two chairs sailing in a graceful arc through the air and into the shark tank. The sardines scattered, but the sharks came to investigate, nibbling on the now-splintering wood.

“Soon, my little darlings,” Glomgold stood up and pushed his face to the glass again.. The spring-loaded chairs were working perfectly. And if that failed, there was always the exploding cake. Or the scorpions….Yes, one way or another, tonight, Mark Beaks would be stopped. 

* * *

“Louie! Nice job!” Dewey hopped off his bunk and held up his phone triumphantly, showing it to Louie, who had just entered their bedroom. “Mark Beaks is already posting about the Golden Shark. He’ll definitely won’t back out now.”

“Good. Any luck with Dr. Gearloose?”

“Fenton won’t even let me into the lab. He said he thinks our hearts are in the right place, but that we really shouldn’t be teaming up with Glomgold for anything, let alone a matchmaking plan that may not even work.” said Huey from his perch on the window-seat, where he was idly paging through an old comic book. 

“It will work! They just need a push in the right direction is all,” Webby interjected. She was standing over a new corkboard labelled “Why Mr. Beaks and Dr. Gearloose are Probably Soulmates”. She put a few more pushpins next to a picture of Gyro and connected them with colorful yarn to other points on the board.

“Ok then. We need another plan.” Dewey hopped back onto his bunk. “How do we get Dr Gearloose out of the lab and into the Golden Shark?”

“Dr Gearloose hates parties, and doesn’t really care for fancy food,” said Webby. 

”And I don’t think the aquarium aspect will appeal to him since his office window looks out under the bay,” Huey added.

Louie looked around the room. His gaze landed on the desk lamp, which was filling the room with a soft glow. “No, Dr. Gearloose won’t go to a party for the fun of it. But,” Louie’s eyes sparkled with mischief, “He WILL do just about anything for the Lil Bulbs.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens... or is it the schemes?   
> More coming soon!


	5. The Golden Shark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another scheme.

“All right, I think if I just re-write a few lines of code, we can get the Bulbs to go into the Golden Shark and replace the table lamps. I’ll optimize them to provide ideally romantic mood lighting.” Huey’s face was lit by the dim blue glow of a computer screen. He had a cable connecting the machine to one Bulb, which gave off a slight orangish pulse as it charged. 

“Uh-oh,” said Dewey, who was watching another screen at the desk beside his brother. “Fenton just left the Board Room. He may be heading our way.”

The four of them turned to where Dewey was pointing. His monitor was divided into quarters, each showing a feed from one of the Money Bin’s security cameras. One showed the building’s main lobby, which was empty except for a lanky teenaged janitor, who was wiping down the big glass doors. The second showed the lab itself, which had already been set to a 2-minute loop of the empty space, so no one else was likely to see what the triplets were up to. The third showed the Board Room, where Scrooge, Gyro, Manny, and several buzzards were sitting around a table. One of the buzzards was pointing at a graph. Scrooge was staring at him, looking dazed, while Gyro seemed far more interested in his pencil than in anything else. And the last showed Fenton, leaning casually against the wall of the elevator.

A soft “ _bing_ ” echoed through the lab and the triplets heard footsteps coming towards them. Huey froze, but Louie put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Keep working. I’ve got this.”

“Good _evening,_ Fenton,” Louie said loudly, stepping out from behind the bank of computers. 

Fenton stopped and raised a suspicious eyebrow at Louie. “What are you kids doing down here?” 

“Oh, we’re working on a project. For school.” Louie casually twirled a pencil in his hand. 

“Yeah, school! For… music class! No, I mean English! Er, history! The history of English music?” Webby popped up from behind the computer, stammering at Fenton. Dewey punched her, but Fenton was already looking stern.

“Webby, you are very clearly lying.”

Huey stood up “What if it’s for a good cause? What if by lying, you increase the happiness of someone you really look up to? And by bringing two brilliant minds together, you create a glorious technological future that past civilizations could never have dreamed of?”

Fenton sat down. “Is this another matchmaking attempt? The coffee shop scheme failed miserably, you should really just…”

“But they’re MADE for each other!” chirped Webby, shoving her notebook into Fenton’s face. “I just know that if we get them to stop fighting, they’ll realize how much they have in common, and…”

“Listen, kids. I want Dr. Gearloose to be happy just as much as you do. But I just don’t think you’re going about it the right way. I’m not doing anything more to enable this scheme.”

“Oh, but you will.” A vicious smirk crept onto Dewey’s face as he turned to his brother. “Hey guess what, Louie? Fenton is Gizmoduck!”

Louie dropped the pencil he was holding. “Seriously? You’re Gizmoduck?”

Fenton sighed into his hand. “You had to tell him. But yes, Louie. I am Gizmoduck, and it is my solemn duty to protect Duckburg from undue chaos.”

“What might you be able to Dew-ey with that information, bro?”

Louie stooped down to pick up his pencil and began twirling it again, with a fierce, calculating intensity. 

“You really don’t want to make an enemy of Louie when he knows your most important secret.” Huey was now looking at Fenton over the top of the computer monitor with a slight pleading look in his eyes. 

Fenton groaned. They’d backed him into a corner here For the good of Duckburg, he couldn’t have the link between himself and his hero persona revealed by a vengeful preteen. Gyro had calmed down quickly enough after the coffee shop attempt. He could smooth things out again if they went badly. 

_And maybe they won’t,_ said a little voice in his head. Hadn’t he seen this sort of thing play out dozens of times in M’ma’s telenovelas? He’d seen it just last night- what had they said? “Sometimes a rivalry is just a love that you don’t want.” Or something like that. He never entirely could follow the plot of _Patos de Pasiones._ And while the novella dialogue had felt forced as always, it had made him think _..._

“Bad news, guys- Board meeting’s over.” Dewey reported from his seat by the security footage. The others peered at his monitor. Sure enough, Gyro, Manny, and Scrooge were standing up from their seats and heading for the Board Room’s broad oak doors . 

Louie started powering down the computer monitors. “We’ve got to get out fast. Fenton, could you stall them, just for a minute or two?” 

Fenton looked nervously from the triplets, to the security camera monitor, to his own workstation and back again. “You four better be _completely_ out of here by the time I get back. Everything back the way you found it. And if Dr. Gearloose notices any of the bulbs are missing--”

“He’s supposed to. That’s how we’ll get him into the restaurant.”

Fenton groaned. “I’m going to regret this.” But he sprinted back to the elevator and managed to step inside before it was summoned to the top floor.

Dewey started piling Bulbs into his backpack.

“Wait! I’m not sure all the code has compiled,” cried Huey, trying to prevent his brother from disconnecting the main bulb from the USB cable. “They could behave unpredictably when we get them in there.”

“There’s no time! We’ll just have to figure it out!”

“They’re getting in the elevator- we’ll have to take the stairs!”

The stairwell door closed behind them, and the lab was momentarily cast in quiet darkness.

* * *

Launchpad had taken side-gigs as a waiter before, but he had never experienced an orientation session this _complicated._ Glomgold had been going through this overly complicated slide show for nearly two hours now, and showed no signs of slowing down. It had started with several unrealistically-flattering sketches of Glomgold himself building up the business, and had continued into crude drawings of increasingly unpleasant fates befalling Glomgold’s various enemies, which seemed to be just about everyone in Duckburg; including, it seemed, some of the mercenaries seated on Launchpad’s either side. 

Glomgold advanced the slide again. “And so, when it is time to serve dessert, Smashnikov will bring out the cake, but make sure to come through the right-hand door to the kitchen, so that I can light the dynamite candles, which McStabberson will have put in place during the soup course. McQuack, you may want to stand back after putting it on the table, especially if you happen to have a peanut allergy. Any questions?” 

Launchpad stared at him in silence for a few moments, then jolted upright when he realized he was expected to speak. “Yes. Should I go out and set the table now, or…?” 

“The table is already set, you ninny! You’re just supposed to make sure that Mark Beaks doesn’t pick up the entree fork before the end of the salad course!”

“Right. Which one is the entree fork?”

“The larger one. Set closest to the plate. The salad fork is smaller, and set farther out, and the dessert fork will not be brought to the tables until desert is served!” Glomgold spun the slide deck until a crudely-drawn diagram of a formal place-setting appeared.

“What about this tiny one?” Launchpad held up a small, three-pronged fork that he picked up from the counter.

Glomgold sighed. “That’s the cocktail fork, which will only be brought to guests who order the shrimp. Any _other_ questions?”

The waiters and mercenaries were silent. 

“Good! Now all of you get out there and serve the bread. Remember, bread to the right, drinks to the left! And gluten-free at table 35!” Glomgold called after Gabby McStabberson as she picked up several baskets of rolls and headed through the dining-room door, with the Smashnikov twins right behind her.

Launchpad started to go, but paused. “One more question, Mr. G.” Launchpad was staring over Glomgold’s shoulder now. “What are the little lightbulb-shaped robots for?” 

“What lightbulb-shaped robots? I dinnae order any…” Glomgold turned around. About two dozen Lil Bulbs had formed a sort of daisy-chain and were helping each other down from the kitchen windowsill. For a moment, the two men just stared at them, as the bulbs began marching in formation towards them.

Then, as one, the glow coming from the bulb’s filaments changed from yellow to red, and they stormed through the kitchen and out into the dining area, scattering breadbaskets as they went. 

* * *

Li’l Bulb was behaving strangely. Gyro wasn’t sure what had gotten into him- was it something from the board meeting? He hadn’t given off an incessant buzzing noise like this since… well, he couldn’t remember when. 

Gyro set the bulb down on the floor, and Lil Bulb rushed to Gyro’s desk, pointing to the computer screen. There was an alert blinking on the bottom corner. “That’s odd…” 

Gyro sat down and tapped a few keys, then sprang up and rushed to one of the many cabinets that lined the lab’s walls. He flung it open. It was empty, save for some dust, and one rusted, broken-off wiry hand- one that he’d replaced on a Bulb due to water-damage. All of the Bulbs that should have been there were missing. Only the original Lil Bulb, now vibrating with agitation, still sat on his shoulder. 

He ran back to the computer and tapped a few keys. He handed a USB cable to the original Bulb, which obligingly plugged itself in, and began broadcasting a network to its brethren. 

The GPS data showed up on Gyro’s screen almost immediately. He overlaid that data on a map of Duckburg. It appeared that all twenty-three missing Bulbs were inside the Glomgold industries building. All the altimeter readings were about 600 feet above sea level- that had to be the top floor, or very nearly. 

He pushed his glasses up his beak, thinking. Glomgold schemed against Scrooge with some frequency, but this seemed a bit too advanced. Anyway, how could _Flintheart Glomgold_ have gotten in here and stolen the bulbs? The idea of that old Scotsman surpassing Gyro’s security system was laughable… _unless he had help._

Only one person could possibly be a good enough hacker to have done it. He tapped a few keys, and sent a signal to Bulb #19. Its dot halted on the screen, and a little wi-fi icon appeared above it. Gyro scanned the devices surrounding the bulb. Plenty of Waddle tech, but that was nothing suspicious- nearly everyone had a Waddle phone, or watch, or laptop. But the one he was looking for would likely have a certain encryption style, while bearing some self-indulgent customized IP address.

He ran his finger down the screen and stopped a device named L33TB33KS. That was the one, for sure. 

“Beaks.” he growled, and sped up the stairs. There was no way that asshole was going to steal his Bulbs and escape unscathed. 

* * *

The Golden Shark’s dining room was, all things considered, not as chaotic as it could have been. Louie tossed a coin to one of the caterers, who let him and Huey in through the employee entrance, then joined Dewey and Webby, who slipped into the dining room through the kitchen after the Bulbs, Webby winding up her grappling hook and tucking it back into Dewey’s backpack. All four were wearing waiter’s uniforms. They looked around the room. 

One Bulb seemed to be following Huey’s original programmed directive, standing posed on a table flashing many colors of light at a young couple who gazed at it appreciatively as they chatted happily over their soup. Another Bulb ran by, holding a tray of drinks, which it delivered to Emma Glamour and her group of fashionably-dressed dining companions. Most of the Bulbs, however, had gone up the stairs to the balcony seating area and had surrounded Mark Beaks, who was not seated at a table, but was standing in front of the shark tank, fiddling with his selfie-camera. “Hold still, you stupid fish,” he was muttering as he held up his phone at several different angles, attempting to get the sharks to form a postworthy background. A Bulb began to climb, unnoticed, up his trouser-leg, while the others began to do an odd sort of war dance on the ground. 

“Nice job, Huey,” Louie fist-bumped his brother. “When Dr. Gearloose gets here, he’ll go straight to Beaks. Then it’s up to us to get them to actually sit down and eat together.” 

“Right! Let’s make sure the salads and bread are on Mark’s table.” Webby and Dewey disappeared into the kitchen again, while Louie and Huey climbed the stairs to the balcony. Two Bulbs were now on Mark’s shoulders, attempting to steal his phone. He managed to shake one off, but the other climbed into his hair and held fast. 

Huey nudged Louie’s elbow and pointed down the stairs. Gyro, hair windswept and glasses askew, was standing in the middle of the floor, holding up an antenna-topped device and spinning rapidly in circles. The antenna pointed upwards, and Gyro charged up the stairs, stopping in front of the aquarium window where Beaks stood.

“You weaseling _thief!_ ” he gasped, holding onto a nearby chair for support. 

“What’d I do?” asked Mark, who was still trying to get the rogue Bulb out of his hair. 

“I saw your device on the Bulb’s GPS.” Gyro’s voice was even and quiet, but dripped with ice-cold venom. “Thought you’d try teaming up with Glomgold again? Try to take down me and Scrooge in one go? Well, it didn’t work last time and it won’t work now!”

Gyro tapped a button on his tablet and the Bulbs immediately latched themselves onto Mark’s legs, holding him in place. “Scheming with Glomgold is low even for you, Beaks.”

A potted plant behind Gyro made a rustling sound, and Glomgold popped out from between the leaves. “He’s not scheming with me, I was scheming against him! To ensure that I remain the second-richest duck in the world!” 

“Yeah, and you haven’t managed, old man! I already paid off your mercenaries to replace the live scorpions with rubber ones, and the dynamite candles with harmless sparklers. You’re going to have to do better than that to get me.”

“Oh, but I have! You dinnae get ALL of my traps!”

Mark casually pulled a laser-pointer out of his pocket and aimed it at a waiter’s bow-tie. It spun off like a ninja-star, but landed harmlessly in the empty salad bowl the woman was carrying. “How about now?”

“Ha! The tie-stars were just a distraction! I’ve got piles and piles of schemes, ye cannae possibly…”

A soft beeping noise filled the air behind them. Mark’s hoverboard, which had been parked under his table, was backing out. Three Bulbs stood atop it, balancing their slight weight against the platform to rotate the wheels. They turned towards Glomgold, and their lights turned red, as they threw themselves forward, charging towards Glomgold with all the speed the hoverboard could manage, which, admittedly, was not very fast. Still there was enough power that several wineglasses were broken as they slammed into a table leg, then turned to rush Glomgold again..

Gyro and Mark looked Glomgold, then at each other, both looking dumbfounded. Then, both dove towards the skating bulbs. Gyro was just a fraction of a second faster, and Mark tripped over his leg, slamming into the table. Both tumbled to the ground as the floor shifted beneath them with a loud clunk, before the floor sprang upwards with enough force to catapult them both into the air and over the wall of the tank. There was a loud splash, and they both appeared in the water, flailing desperately. Mark’s voice could be vaguely heard crying “No! I can’t swim!”

“Hah! Mark Beaks and Scrooge’s head researcher, I’ll be the richest duck in the world in no time! Do your worst, my darlings!” Glomgold shouted at the sharks, which were beginning swim towards the thrashing forms. 

There was a sudden blast of cold air and everything in the aquarium stopped moving. Glomgold turned around. Gizmoduck stood, there, blowing a few snowflakes casually off the end of his freeze-ray gun.

“Not today, Glomgold.” said Gizmoduck in a voice as cold as the ice that had just formed in the aquarium. “Now I’ll give you a choice. You can go back downstairs, and finish opening the restaurant with the party on the main floor, or,” he waved the freeze-ray threateningly “You can spend the rest of the night cooling off.”

Glomgold took only a moment to calculate. There was still money to be made if the rest of the gala went well. He sped down the stairs and Gizmoduck wheeled over to the kids, who crawled out from under a table. “I suspected this wouldn’t go well.” Fenton looked down at them. 

“Not too badly, though! Look!” Webby pointed at the aquarium. 

Gyro’s body was pointed like a torpedo towards the surface, one arm looped around Mark’s chest. None of the sharks had made it with a few meters of them.

A dial spun on the freeze-ray at Fenton’s wordless command, and he fired it, melting the ice around Gyro and Mark. As if they hadn’t noticed the freezing, Gyro immediately kicked upwards, and their heads broke the surface.

“Just kick your feet like you’re riding a bicycle,” Gyro’s voice carried over the water. “Look, we can climb back out again, it’s not far.”

Gyro half-dragged Mark to the edge, and pulled himself up onto the metal catwalk that hung over the tank. He turned around and offered a hand to Mark, who grabbed it and allowed himself to be pulled up. 

“You saved my life,” gasped Mark, wide yellow eyes fixed on Gyro. 

Gyro shrugged, and pushed his sopping hair out of his face. “It was the right thing to do. Not sure that you'd ever understand ethical behavior..." He looked down at the tank. The rest of the ice was melting rapidly, and the sharks and fish began to stir again. 

Mark reached out and squeezed his arm. His voice cracked as he spoke softly. "I would have done the same for you, if I could swim and you couldn't." 

Gyro sniffed. "You always seemed like the type who'd save your own sorry ass before anyone else."

Mark shuffled slightly closer to Gyro and looked earnestly into his face. "You're worth more to society that I am, though. Sure, my ideas make money, but you're always coming up with something that's actually _useful."_

The faintest trace of a smile played across Gyro's face as he reached out and awkwardly patted Mark's hand. "Let's get back down there and see if we can find some dry clothes. Or at least some towels?"

They crawled to the edge and looked down onto the balcony again where Gizmoduck and the kids were staring up at them.

“What’s Gizmo doing here?” Mark sounded surprised.

Gyro realized Mark’s arm was still looped through his own. He looked down at the kids. Huey looked excited and Louie looked pleased, but Webby’s eyes shone with pure unbridled glee. His eyes darted back and forth, doing rapid calculations. He pulled his arm away and glared down at Fenton. “He is _so_ fired.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading- kudos and comments always make me happy! 
> 
> I think about 2 or 3 more chapters should wrap up all I have planned for this story, so stay tuned!


	6. Messages

“Well, we didn’t get them to have dinner together, but at least they talked a little without insulting anyone. That’s progress, right?” said Webby. They had just returned all of the Bulbs to Gyro’s lab, and, after a rushed explanation to Scrooge and Donald about where they had been, they had returned to the triplet’s room.

“I guess.” said Dewey from his bunk, “But I don’t know what else we can try.” He rolled over onto his stomach and looked down at Huey. “Any more brilliant date ideas in the JWG?”

“Well, we’ve done the coffee shop and the fancy restaurant. Adults also sometimes go on dates to movie theaters or nightclubs. Of course, most nightclubs don’t let kids in, so we’d have to--”

“No need,” said Louie, grinning and reaching into his hoodie pocket. “You know how the Bulbs were all over Mark for a bit there? One of them grabbed his phone.” He pulled the Waddle-branded device out and held it up.

“Won’t he notice it’s missing?” asked Webby.

“Probably not right away,” said Huey, “Mark Beaks typically has no less than ten phones, tablets, smartwatches, and other portable devices on his person at all times.”

“It’s passcode-protected. Think you can hack it, Hubert?” 

“I could check the JWG chapter on codebreaking...”

“No need,” said Webby, taking the phone carefully in her gloved hands. “There’s a fingerprint scanner on the other side, see? There’s probably a residual print there- I can replicate it! I’ll just need some fine powder- some blush or foundation from the makeup cabinet in the bathroom, and some liquid latex, and maybe a bit of ink.” She pulled an ultraviolet flashlight and a magnifying glass out from under her desk and the triplets dashed out to get the rest of her supplies. 

* * *

Gyro sat down in Scrooge’s office. Scrooge set his papers aside and regarded Gyro with his affectionate, avuncular eyes.

“I received your memo requesting the firing of Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera,” Scrooge read, “And your addedum to also fire ‘As many of the kids as are employed here and therefore can be fired, but especially the pink one.’ Unfortunately, none of my kids are employees of McDuck Enterprises, but I am willing to hear your argument against Fenton’s continued work in your lab.”

“He was interfering with my personal life!” 

“As far as I can tell, all he did was save you from being eaten by sharks.”

“I was only in danger of being eaten by sharks in the first place because he let the kids keep arranging elaborate schemes to… to get me to go on a date!”

“Was that really so wrong of them?”

“It was unprofessional behavior!” Gyro snapped, hand clenching on the chair’s armrest.

“But it does show he  _ cares  _ about you, lad.” Scrooge rose from his seat and gazed out the window. “Fenton is very perceptive. It’s why he’s so good at being Gizmoduck- he notices details. I suppose he knows why you aren’t in contact with your parents?”

Gyro glared at the floor, but he nodded. Scrooge knew, of course- had known since he first hired Gyro to work for McDuck enterprises. And while he never told anyone Gyro’s secret, Scrooge had always made sure that Gyro got a birthday card, always invited Gyro to spend holidays in the McDuck mansion. Scrooge had even attended Gyro’s graduation from his PhD program, just weeks after he had accepted the job, when Scrooge learned why Gyro’s own family would be absent. 

“Fenton, without a doubt, thinks of you as a very dear friend. But he also has his mother. He has Gandra. He’s doubtless noticed you have no one to go home to.”

“Why should I  _ need _ anyone to go home to? My work is enough.” Gyro tried to sound convincing, but his voice trembled slightly. “And even… even if I  _ were  _ to have a… a  _ romantic  _ partner,” Gyro nearly choked on the word, “Why should Fenton decide who it is?”

“I told you, he’s quite perceptive.” Scrooge turned around to face Gyro again. “Did I ever tell you the story of the Golden Lagoon of White Agony Plains?”

“When you and Goldie O’Gilt had a fight with Glomgold and she escaped with a magic amulet? What does that have to do with--”

“You know why I love Goldie?” Scrooge interrupted him. “Because she is- always has been- at my level. Maybe even one step ahead of me. She could be smarter than the smarties and tougher than the toughies when she wanted to. Sit down, Gyro.” 

Gyro had started to rise from his seat, but he sat again, though his leg jiggled with impatient agitation. 

“Yes, I’ve made my fair share of enemies, you know that. But they aren’t all like her. I can’t imagine old Flinty ever being able to truly best me at anything.” Scrooge chuckled. “But Goldie? Aye, she was a match for me- for my intellect, for my ambition, for everything. Sometimes, you just meet someone who is so perfectly suited to you- someone who smoothes out all your rough edges and yet sharpens your dull points. You can’t help loving someone like that, even as you hate yourself for it. Even if they sometimes steal your prized possessions from right under your nose. I think you know what I mean, Gyro?” 

Gyro, who had been following Scrooge’s anecdotes about Goldie and wondering where his employer could possibly be going with this, made a small “urk”.

Every muscle in his body froze. His brain froze for a moment too, before beginning to whir at top speed. He knew in an instant that Scrooge was right. He had always wanted to best Mark Beaks, but it was just for his own professional satisfaction, wasn’t it? He wanted to prove he could be more accomplished. But to whom did he want to prove it? Not to himself, he was perfectly happy with his inventions. No. He wanted to prove himself to _Beaks_. He wanted to _impress_ Beaks. He was… dare he admit it, even to himself? _Attracted_ to Mark Beaks. And, as he suddenly realized, he had been for years. How hadn’t he noticed his own feelings before? Beaks was, despite his dubious morality, an utterly _brilliant_ man.

“That… is  _ highly _ inconvenient.” Gyro said finally, releasing his tight grip on the chair’s armrests and slumping down. 

“Aye, it is. Nothing about my relationship with Goldie could ever be said to be ‘convenient’.” Scrooge laughed again. “But she  _ challenges  _ me, Gyro. And as much as it frustrates me, I cannae resist a good challenge. And neither, I think, can you.”

Scrooge walked around his desk and laid a gentle hand on Gyro’s shoulder. “The kids have been asking if Goldie and I are ever going to get married ever since I met her. And, no, while it’s not really their business, I know they’re only doing it because they’ll think it will make me happy. Because we’re a family. Though they’re sometimes misguided, they only do it out of love . ”

Gyro nodded meekly “Thank you, sir. I should... I should apologize to Fenton.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, but Scrooge lowered his hand. “He’s down in the lab already. Go talk to him in person..”

* * *

“Got it!” Webby removed her glove with the latex copy of Mark Beaks’ fingerprint and set it aside, handing the phone back to Louie. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Just snoop around a bit. We know what he’s published online, but he might have some private notes. Or something interesting in his drafts folder.”

“Oooh! And when we’re done with that, I’m going to beat his high score in Soda Pop Match Mania!” Dewey peered at the bright app icons over Louie’s shoulder. 

“His main email account is all business stuff… there’s some texts from his mom… food delivery apps…” Louie muttered as he scrolled, tapping the different apps. “Huh. He must really like Indian food- he’s had chicken tikka and a mango lassi delivered to his office five times this week.”

“As interesting as that is, I’m not sure it’s useful information. Check his socials.” Dewey suggested. Louie closed the Lunchcart app and tapped the bright blue ‘W’ of Webstagram. The news feed was surprisingly sparse

“Huh. He has a lot of followers, but he only follows a handful of other bloggers.”

“Though Dr. Gearloose  _ is  _ one of them.”

“We could have deduced that- they’re constantly flaming each other in the comments of every post.”

“What’s this?” Webby pointed to a little red icon on the bottom of the screen. “Four hundred and seventy-one unpublished draft posts.”

Louie opened the drafts folder and they all crowded around the phone and began to read as he scrolled. 

“If there was no gravity, I’d still fall for you.”

“I’ve got my ion you ;)”

“I think you just lost an electron because you are positively attractive.”

The kids all looked at each other disbelieving. 

“They’re all terrible science themed pick-up lines.” Dewey said. 

“Some of the puns aren’t that bad,” Huey read another “‘You’re hot enough to melt tungsten.’ Oh! Because tungsten has the highest melting point of any metal.”

“More interestingly,” Louie added, “These are all drafted comments on Gyro’s posts.”

“And look at the timestamps!” Huey was examining Mark’s public Webstagram on his own tablet now. “Every time he saved one of these to his drafts folder, he sent an insult right after.”

“Wow. Do grown-ups usually have such a hard time admitting they like each other?” asked Webby. 

Huey opened the JWG to the page on romantic courtship. “Well, since this does seem to be a Rivals-to-Lovers situation, they might not have liked each other when they first met

“Wait… what does he mean by ‘I think my favorite planet is Uranus’?”

The boys looked at each other and blushed. “Don’t think about it too hard, Webs.” said Louie finally. 

“Either way, we know that Gandra was right- Mark Beaks does _ like _ Dr. Gearloose. But Dr. Gearloose doesn’t know about it.”

Dewey grabbed the phone and dodged across the room. “He will now!” 

“What did you do?” Huey looked alarmed as he chased his brother. 

“I hit ‘Publish All’. Sometimes, you just gotta Dewey-it.”

* * *

Fenton was seated at his desk, tapping at his computer when Gyro stepped out of the elevator. Gyro crossed the lab in three quick strides and pulled his assistant into a tight hug.

“Um, Dr. Gearloose? Is everything alright?” Gyro had never hugged him before. He wasn’t sure Gyro had ever even  _ touched  _ him before.

“I’m sorry,” said Gyro. He stepped back and slid down into his chair. He could feel his face getting hotter from the combined embarrassment about his earlier anger and of what he was about to confess.

“Sir?” 

Gyro stared fixedly at the floor, avoiding Fenton’s gaze. “You just wanted to help. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry.”

“I’m sorry sir, I talked to Scrooge and I understand that my behavior was unprofessional--”

“No.” Gyro raised a hand, cutting of Fenton’s apology. “You have nothing to apologize for. Because,” he sighed heavily, “You were right.”

“Right about what, sir?”

“Fenton, drop the ‘sir’. Call me Gyro. You’re the closest thing to a friend I’ve ever had. Hell, you  _ are  _ my friend. No more formalities between us.”

“Thank you, Gyro.” Fenton sat back down in his own desk chair. 

Gyro took a deep breath. “The thing is, I need your help. Or advice. As a friend.”

“Yes?

“ _ IhaveacrushonMarkBeaks.”  _ Gyro said it so quickly, with his face half-buried in his hands, that Fenton wasn’t entirely sure what he said.

“You have…?”

“A crush! Mark Beaks! He’s  _ brilliant _ , he’s  _ successful,  _ he’s  _ gorgeous. _ ” Gyro stood up and paced in agitated circles around the lab. “He  _ smells _ good…”

“Does he?” Fenton spun in his seat, following Gyro’s erratic pacing

Gyro gripped the back of Fenton’s chair. “I haven’t let myself pursue romance since I was  _ sixteen, _ Fenton! My parents were… not very accepting of my identity, and so I decided I would only focus on my work! Reinvent myself, but get rid of any illogical feelings! And I’ve done that, Fenton! Not that it really helped me with them anyway…” he stared bitterly into midair.

Fenton reached up and patted Gyro’s arm. “You’ve got a new family now. You’ve got all of us. Me, and Scrooge, and Launchpad, and the kids. And in this family- you can be who you are, and love who you love. We all care about you- if you’ll let us.”

Gyro was quiet for a moment. Fenton hoped he hadn’t pushed Gyro too far. But after a moment, he slid down into his seat and leaned his head against Fenton’s shoulder. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. No one’s judged Launchpad for his dating choices. Why shouldn’t I date a rival billionaire? I mean, maybe we could start working together. Mark Beaks is uncreative, but he’s always thinking ahead. I could accomplish a lot, really, if he and I were on the same team.”

Fenton chuckled. “Just promise me you won’t become Tyrannical Overlords of the World?”

“All right, no taking over the world.” Gyro spun around in his chair a few times. “So what do I do?

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got a girlfriend.  _ What do I do? _ ”

Fenton grinned. “Well, the sensible first step would be to ascertain if Mark feels the same way about you.”

Gyro sighed, and drew his knees up to his chest so he was perched awkwardly on his chair. “He  _ hates  _ me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Consider it from a psychological perspective-”

But before Fenton could continue, Gyro’s phone began to vibrate, loudly and incessantly. “Mark Beaks commented on your post” flashed across the screen, several times in rapid succession.

Gyro swiped upwards, opening the app. “He’s commenting on some of my old posts. ‘Hey scientist, wanna experiment ;) ;) ;)?’ What is that about?” He scrolled through the notifications. “‘Tell me your mass so I can use Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation to calculate just how attracted I am to you.’ And another: ‘Hey babe do you think there's… _chemistry_ between us?’” he read aloud. “He must have gotten hacked or something.”

“That’s… strange. He owns both Webstabgram and Cheeps. Who  _ could  _ hack his account?” Fenton said. 

“Good point. Maybe he’s trolling me? Look at this. ‘If I were an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase so I could unzip your genes.’ ‘If I could rearrange the Periodic Table, I’d put Uranium and Iodine together.’ Well, that doesn’t make sense, the electron orbitals would...” 

Fenton pointed to the periodic table poster on the wall, drawing Gyro’s attention to the symbols for Uranium and Iodine. “It’s a pun, sir.”

“Oh. That explains the next one- it says ‘Copper-Tellurium.’ Cu- Te. He thinks I’m…  _ oh! _ ” 

At this point, Gyro’s face turned brilliantly scarlet. He wordlessly handed the phone to Fenton. 

Fenton read a few of the messages out loud.  “ ‘If you were carbon-14 I would date you so hard’ ‘I’d love to be a Galvanic cell and let the energy flow between us’. And then there’s a few like this one: ‘I wish I had the courage to just ask you out like a normal person’”

Fenton looked up at Gyro again. “I think it’s safe to say he doesn’t hate you, sir.”

Gyro picked up the phone again and stared at it in disbelief. It was still buzzing with notifications every few seconds. “I can’t believe it. There's 471 of these.” He was blushing so hard now that it looked like smoke was coming out of his ears. No, there was actually smoke in the air now, but it was coming from the phone.

“Gyro! The stream of notifications is overloading the hardware!” Fenton grabbed the phone, flinging it across the room and pulling Gyro down with him behind a desk. The phone skidded across the lab floor, and when it came to rest, it promptly exploded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters should wrap up this story, thanks for being here, hope you enjoyed all the terrible, terrible, pickup lines.


	7. At Waddle Headquarters

Mark closed the door to his office and sipped his latte. Meetings with the legal were always so dull. They kept explaining things like copyright law, and intellectual property protection, and why they couldn't completely solve the Louie problem, all in a tone that resembled a mother talking to a recalcitrant toddler. But at least it was over, Mark thought as he leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on the desk. No more meetings until next week. Now, time for a little break and then maybe some more work on one of his pet projects. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and was surprised to see a text notification from Gyro Gearloose.

“Seriously, Beaks? You practically own the entire internet and you still got hacked?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. He can’t have been hacked. What was Gearloose on about?

Another text appeared. “Or you’re just trolling. Nice try”

Mark tapped the screen to see which post exactly Gyro was commenting on. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped and he felt cold, like he had just swallowed a bucket of ice. Words he had written  _ months  _ ago, words he had resolved never to speak aloud, words that shouldn’t have ever been read by anyone’s eyes but his own were there! On the internet, in full view of everyone! 

“How did that get posted?” He jumped up from his desk, knocking his coffee into his lap. “ _ Fuck  _ that’s cold.” he grumbled as the iced latte began seeping into his pants. He grabbed a napkin and started dabbing at himself with one hand, still holding his phone in the other as he stared at the Webestagram page in disbelief. 

Another new text from Gyro appeared on the screen. “Wow, you’re really committed to this troll.”

“Committed?” He swiped the screen, and collapsed back into his chair. It rolled backwards and slammed into the wall behind him. Three fidget spinners fell from the shelf above his desk. His hand reached out automatically to catch them, but of course he missed, and they all landed on the floor, whirling silently. He ignored them and stared at his empty drafts folder. He was pretty sure there had been over 400 science-based pickup lines saved in there, and now, they were gone- all had winked into public view. 

Now the entire world knew that he’d spent the better part of a year suppressing his feelings for Scrooge McDuck’s chief inventor. “Stupid handsome brilliant man.” Mark muttered bitterly under his breath. He threw that phone onto the floor in frustration, watching screen shatter into a spiderweb of cracks. 

“Wait.” he muttered. All of the posts had been published, but he  _ could  _ ensure that Gyro didn’t read all of them before he had a chance to delete them. He stood up, and immediately slipped in the remainder of the spilled coffee that had missed his pants and was now pooling on the floor. Hands flung out as he fell, knocking over a jar of cinnamon-flavored hard candies. Several of these rained down off the desk, then bounced and rolled along the tiles. He didn’t have time to clean them up just now- he carefully stepped over them and walked to the large desktop computer that had admin access to all the Waddle-affiliated wifi servers in Duckberg, pulling his hood over his face to filter out distractions.

Of course Gearloose was an expert in his own cyber-security. Always from an untraceable IP address, half the time on his own server, and of  _ course  _ he never used an off-the-shelf Waddle device. Still… He glanced at his phone again. That last text from Gyro had been over the municipal cell network, not the Money Bin’s wi-fi. Ok, he had an in! He just needed to send a few more commands over the network…

He slammed the keys, then took a deep breath, lowered his hood, and sat back in his chair. There was no way to be certain that he’d been successful, but hopefully, he had forced Gyro’s phone to shut down. Now there was time to delete all those posts. Maybe he could mitigate the damage, and then figure out how they had escaped the confines of his drafts folder in the first place. 

“‘I wish I was a derivative so that I could touch your curves.’ That’s such a stupid one, he’s not even curvy. All lanky and angular.” Mark grumbled to himself as his thumb hovered over the delete button, but something at the bottom of the screen caught his eye. Though it had been up for less than 3 minutes, the post had nearly 2000 likes. 

“Damn. I can’t delete something with that many likes!” He turned angrily towards the plywood cutout of Gyro that still stood in the corner of his office, now bearing considerably more scuffs than it had a few days ago- he’d thrown a  _ lot  _ of tennis balls at it in frustration since the night in the shark tank. “This is all your fault. It was just supposed to be a joke, at first! Why’d you make me  _ fall  _ for you!”

He punched the cutout right in the bright yellow beak. To his surprise, the head snapped backwards and clattered to the floor. A jagged splinter of wood where the neck had just been caught on his sleeve. He yanked his arm back towards himself, but the wood Gyro just fell against him, tearing his sleeve as it clattered to the floor. He turned back towards his desk, stepping on several of the spherical cinnamon candies as he did so. They rolled away under his foot, and he stumbled. His kneecap cracked against one of the fidget spinners as he hit the floor, his torn sleeve dragging through the spilled coffee.

He lay there, facedown, on the cool tiles for a moment. “Why is this my life?” he whined to no one in particular. There was a soft ping behind him as the elevator arrived at the top floor of Waddle HQ. Mark raised himself up onto his elbows and groaned. The worst had happened. Gyro Gearloose was walking into his office, doubtless ready to shoot him with a stun-ray, or something like that. It was no better than he deserved, for being attracted to someone who clearly hated him.

But the bespectacled figure just smiled, and reached out a hand to help him up. “If I could rearrange the Periodic Table, I’d put Uranium and Iodine together.” 

* * *

“Wow. Mr. Beaks is really making a mess of his office. He’s definitely freaked out- I'm sure he's noticed the messages posting by now.” Webby’s voice crackled through the walkie-talkie that Dewey held, as the triplets sat crosslegged on the well-kept lawn of a little park in the shadow of the main office tower of Waddle. They could just barely see the indigo-clad form of Webby, rappelling from the rooftop to peer through the windows of Mark Beaks’ top-floor office. 

A shadow loomed over the triplets. “I should have known you’d be here,” Fenton, closely followed by Gandra, was smiling down at them. He tucked the last pieces of the Gizmosuit into his duffel bag and sat down. “Dr. Gearloose insisted I fly him over here. I suppose one of you can explain why his phone just literally blew up with notifications?”

Louie held up the spare Waddle-phone proudly. “Just a lucky find in Mark Beaks’ drafts folder.”

“Impressive,” said Gandra. “How’d you get into his account?” 

“Fingerprint scanner on the back of the phone. Logged into everything.”

Gandra rolled her eyes. “You would think he’d at least use 2-factor authentication. The Operations team installed it on all the desktop computers in the office. Guess when you’re the CEO you can opt out of these things.” 

“Dr. Gearloose is in Mr. Beaks’ office!” Webby’s voice crackled out of the walkie-talkie again. 

“How’s it going?” asked Huey.

“Well, Mr. Beaks was on the floor and Dr. Gearloose helped him up. I can’t quite hear what they’re saying. They're smiling, though!”

“By the way, Huey, your Woodchuck book was absolutely right,” Fenton said. “Their rivalry was primarily driven their frustrated attraction. Much more so than professional jealousy.”

“The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook is never wrong.” Huey said matter-of-factly. 

“Ok, so I  _ think  _ Dr Gearloose just said ‘Your face is as boring as beans’ and then Mr. Beaks said ‘If you like driving old vans, I have one for sale.’” Webby was speaking though the radio again.

“What?”

“Look, I’m not great at lip-reading. It might have also been “‘In space there is a clear submarine’? And now Mr. Beaks is saying ‘You have the hair like a swimming Frenchman.’”

“Webs,  _ why _ are you trying to read their lips?" Louie was shaking his head in disbelief at the walkie. "Why can't you just listen to the window with your spy stuff?”

Webby was silent for a moment. “I, uh… well... I dropped it. It’s on a window-ledge five floors down and if I go get it now I might miss something important. Anyway, Dr. Gearloose just said ‘It’s traditional to stare at lambs.’ and Mr. Beaks said ‘You’re right, Europe was a really bad idea’”

Fenton reached for the walkie-talkie. “I highly doubt that, Webby, maybe you can just tell us what they’re doing, instead of what you think they’re saying?” 

Suddenly the walkie-talkie emitted a high-pitched squeal, causing Fenton to drop it in surprise. “THEY KISSED! I REPEAT, DR. GEARLOOSE AND MR. BEAKS JUST KISSED” 

* * *

Occasionally, on nights when Gyro couldn’t sleep, he reached for a piece of brainless pulp fiction. In some of these books, he had read about kisses so electric and exciting that they completely overflowed the kisser’s senses. He had always assumed this was hyperbole. He certainly didn't expect that a loud squealing noise, almost like a little girl’s shriek, would start ringing in his head the moment his arms wrapped around Mark’s waist and their beaks met for the first time. 

He pulled back. No, the sound wasn’t in his head, and Mark was looking puzzled. They both turned towards the window. Webby was there, dressed in a cat-burglar costume and dangling from a cable. She looked at them for a moment, then hit a button on her belt and whizzed out of sight. 

“Ah.” said Gyro, “I should have guessed.”

“One of your kids?” Mark asked.

“Not mine. Well. I suppose she is, in a manner of speaking. Not by blood, but... the McDucks are my family.”

“You’ll have to walk me through the whole family tree sometime. I’ve never quite figured out who’s related to whom over there.” 

“Is that the best idea you’ve got for a date activity? Genealogy research? I admit, it’s better than having some children manipulate us into spilling coffee on each other.”

Mark laughed, not his usual, sarcastic laugh, but one that rang with genuine joy. “Were they involved in all of this then? The jetpack, and the coffee, and Glomgold's...?”

“Not the jetpack, but yes to the rest of it, as far as I can tell. It was juvenile behavior, but I guess their hearts were in the right place.”

“Guess it worked out, in the end. I never would have confessed my feelings for you if they hadn't forced my hand.” Mark looped an arm around Gyro’s shoulders, and Gyro felt his heart leap at the touch.. “How about dinner? I can get us a reservation just about anywhere you’d like to go. Seafood? Chinese? Or I know an  _ excellent _ Indian place, if you like curry. It’s just down the street.” 

Gyro thought for a moment. He wasn’t feeling particularly hungry at the moment, but the chance to sit down together and to finally speak openly and honestly with the man he had secretly admired for so long, was all he could possibly want.

“Anything’s fine with me, as long as there are no sharks.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the final full chapter, but an epilogue will be up soon to answer one important question- where is Boyd in this fic? Stay tuned, and thanks for reading!


	8. Epilogue: 2-BO

“In the elevator. Be there in a second.” Gyro hit send just as the elevator reached the top floor of one of the swankiest apartment towers in Silverbeak. He stepped out, and knocked on the penthouse door. It opened just a second later- Mark had clearly seen the text before Gyro got to the door.

“Hey babe! Thanks for coming over!” Mark greeted him with a quick kiss, then grabbed Gyro by the hand, pulling him into the apartment. 

“I was dumpster diving at the old e-waste site just outside of town, and I found something I think you’d like,” Mark began, tugging Gyro down the hallway and into the well-lit home office just off the minimalist kitchen. “It’s this old android, but the AI is really advanced, and I think it might be--”

Gyro pulled back suddenly. Somehow, in the instant it took Mark to turn around, Gyro had scrambled all the way back into the kitchen and was now somehow perched on top of the refrigerator, knees tucked against his chest, hair standing on end in a way that was reminiscent of a housecat which had been threatened with a bath.

“Gyro?”

“Get that… that THING out of your house!” 

“What’s wrong with it? It’s just a cute little robot. Yeah it was in the garbage, but I cleaned it up. And see! It looks just like a mini-me! I was thinking I could--.”

“It’s not a toy! It’s a dangerous weapon!” Gyro shrieked so loudly that a glass of water Mark had left on the counter tipped over and spilled into the sink. They both ignored it, Mark staring up at Gyro with some concern on his face. He looked back at the parrot-shaped android, which was sitting on his desk, powered down and plugged into a USB cable. 

“I was just looking through the core memories--”

“So you should have seen already that it almost destroyed a major city, landed me in jail, and very nearly ruined my entire career!”

“Well, yeah, I saw that,” Mark shrugged nonchalantly, ”but it’s not the  _ core _ memory.” Mark approached the fridge and reached out a hand to Gyro. “If you get down from there I can show you.”

Gyro hesitated. 

“C’mon babe. He’s powered off, anyway. It won’t do anything until I boot him up again..”

Gyro took Mark’s hand and allowed himself to be helped down to the floor, and reluctantly followed his boyfriend into the office. That was definitely 2-BO on the desk- how it had gotten to the e-waste plant in Duckburg, Gyro didn’t know. He’d always assumed Dr. Akita melted it down for scrap years ago. 

Mark pressed a hand onto Gyro’s shoulder and Gyro sank into Mark’s chair. Mark dragged in a stool from the kitchen and perched behind him, reaching around to grab the computer mouse, stopping briefly to nibble the feathers at the back of Gyro’s neck. 

“Look at this.” Mark scrolled through several lines of code. “Very advanced AI. Plenty capable of learning from its experiences. But I want to show you the video-recordings of some of its memories.”

“It doesn’t matter what it learned later. The first experiences form its core. That’s the most important part, and 2-BO’s core is to be a weapon.”

“It’s not though.” Mark tapped a few keys, and some video icons appeared on the screen. “A lot of the early memories were its programming as a defense droid, yes. But not the very first. It was really heavily archived and encrypted, clearly someone didn’t want it found, but I got it. Watch.”

Mark clicked one of the icons and an image of a young man with wild hair and small, round spectacles appeared on the screen. 

“That’s you, isn’t it?”

Gyro nodded weakly. He couldn’t speak, and his stomach felt uncomfortably clenched.

A tinny voice came from the computer’s speaker: “Am I a real boy?”

“Definitely.” the figure on the screen responded. 

The video blinked out, and the adult Gyro took off his glasses, wiping his eyes. “That was his core the whole time?”

“That’s the first thing he said to me, back in the junkyard. A Definitely Real Boy.” Mark wrapped both of his arms around Gyro’s neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Brilliant little bot you made there. It had to have been a while ago, though?”

“Twenty years or so. 2-BO was my undergraduate capstone, back at Tokyolk University. I had trouble getting into PhD programs after that. Ludwig von Drake was the only person crazy enough to hire me.” He shrugged. “At least he got me a job at McDuck industries afterward.” 

Mark scrolled through the lines of code. “The weapons system is definitely a few decades out of date. But the personification? The natural language processing? Some of the most elegant AI programming I’ve seen. If I make a couple changes to the morality circuits, and archive the defense-drone programs,” he tapped a few keys, “It should behave more or less indistinguishably from a regular kid.” 

Gyro craned his neck to look up at Mark’s face. “Why would you want that?”

“Honey, weapons are not popular these days. Terrible for my image. But an adorable child? Social media gold!”

Gyro rubbed the bridge of his beak. “Of course.”

“Lots of stuff I could do with it. Take him to Funzo’s, fly kites, get treasure from this rich kid’s birthday party...”

“Do WHAT now?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take him. I know you don’t like parties.” 

Gyro peered at the code again, while Mark walked back out to the kitchen and returned with two bottles of lightly-flavored sparkling water . “It’s memories have been overwritten several times. Even if you clean up all this encrypted code, there’s still a good chance of it glitching.”

Mark handed Gyro one of the water bottles. “We’re on the same team now. Is there any tech challenge the two of us can’t tackle?”

Gyro leaned back, letting his head rest against Mark’s shoulder. “You’re right. There’s a lot we could accomplish, working together.”

Mark raised his glass towards Gyro. “To collaboration?” 

“May this be the first of many.” 

The glass bottles clinked, and they got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading pewpewpewpew!


End file.
